


Pygmalion

by thedevilchicken



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bad Ending, Barebacking, Chains, Deepthroating, Gods, M/M, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sexual Slavery, Victim raped in public to demonstrate loss of status, victim is aroused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Achilles doesn't ask what he did to deserve this. He already knows.
Relationships: Achilles/Apollo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Pygmalion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancslove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/gifts).

Achilles doesn't ask what he did to deserve this. He already knows. 

Troilus was beautiful. Troilus was radiant. He was the son of Hecuba and Priam, King of Troy, but before Priam claimed him he belonged to someone else. At the altar of Apollo Thymbraeus, Achilles took the head of a god's son so the Greeks would win the war. Prophecy fulfilled. He now pays the price. 

Achilles wears a golden chain around his neck, so fine it looks like woven thread though strong enough it cuts his fingers when he attempts to break it. He can find no weaknesses that he might exploit in its construction, though knowing where it came from he is unsurprised by that. Hephaestus made his armour, and his made this chain and bound Achilles in it with a loop around his throat. The chain's other end is in the hand of the god's marble statue, as if the bright Olympian gold has always been a part of it. 

Achilles cannot leave the temple. The chain won't reach the temple door and when he walks toward it, when the chain pulls to its very farthest extent, when it strains against his skin and he strains for breath, he's more like to lose his head than break his bonds. 

He can't leave the temple, so the Greeks came there to pay him their respects before they left for home. Odysseus was sympathetic to his situation but he stood back at a distance; he had gods and goddesses enough already dabbling in his fate without inviting more. And Agamemnon laughed, full-throated and bent double, while Achilles' face flamed and his temper flared and his fingers ached to choke him. Agamemnon, the conquering hero, was returning to Mycenae laden with Troy's riches. Achilles would remain in Thymbra, naked, shackled to a lump of pretty polished stone. 

"Will you stay for the ritual?" the temple's high priest asked them, and in their devout wish that they not anger bright Apollo, the pair of them agreed; after ten long years, what was another night? They ate and drank through the dark night hours with their men outside the temple doors - Achilles heard their songs and shouts and laughter to be going home. And then, when the sky began to lighten, the Greek leaders returned inside the temple. 

Achilles understood. When the great gold light of Helios came streaming in blinding through the windows, when the statue by the bloodstained altar shivered, trembled, and then moved, he understood. The leaders were afraid and daren't move, but Achilles had no fear. When Apollo rose and stepped down from his dais, he knows this was his punishment. For Troy. For Troilus. And Apollo, beautiful and radiant Apollo, looked so much like his son. 

The god, with the chain in his hand, pushed Achilles to his knees there on the temple floor, before Odysseus and Agamemnon, Menelaus, Helen, leaders whose names Achilles knew but didn't care to bring to mind. When Apollo forced his cock into Achilles' mouth, he bit, but Apollo only laughed; he was cold as stone, and also hard as it. 

The Greek leaders watched in silence as Achilles, brave Achilles, swiftest and hardest of the warriors that came to Troy, gagged on Apollo's huge cock. His eyes watered. Tears spilled down his cheeks and Apollo's stony fingers closed to fists in his long hair so he could thrust in deeper. Achilles felt the tip of him push down into his throat, and hs swallowed by reflex, as if that might clear a path for him to breathe. His hands scrambled at Apollo's perfect alabaster thighs, but the god thrust in again, again. Achilles felt an unfamiliar cresting wave of bitter panic. He felt his throat close uselessly on Apollo's thick, unyielding cock. Blackness swam in his eyes like dark Stygian waters. He expected to die, humiliated. He didn't. 

Apollo pulled back. Apollo moved away, only to reappear behind him. He pulled Achilles back against his broad, stone-solid chest and wrapped one hand around him. He stroked him while the others watched, grip firm, and cold, but sickly thrilling. Achilles' struggles came to nothing, but he found himself unsure he wished them to succeed. 

In the bright beam of sunlight, warm on his skin, Apollo made Achilles come; he emptied himself of his thick, bitter seed, an ecstatic burst against the temple floor. Apollo ran his fingers through the mess of it, and Achilles burned and ached and hated, resented, the fact of what he knew would follow. Apollo slicked Achilles' hole with his own stone-chilled semen, pushed his fingers in and stretched him open. Apollo pushed him down onto his hands and knees then penetrated him with the length of his solid, come-slicked cock. Achilles groaned out loud and heard it echo from the temple walls, harsh and bright with shame. He hung his head so he couldn't see the others watching, but Apollo's fingers in his hair forced him up again, to look. 

When Apollo came in him, everyone was watching. When Apollo filled him with his seed then pulled away to let it drip back out of him, all eyes were on Achilles. The god returned to his dais as if he'd never left, but Achilles remained there on the floor. Apollo's come painted his hole, his balls, his thighs, the stones that he was kneeling on. As he closed his eyes, Agamemnon's renewed laughter reached his ears. 

The leaders left the temple. By now, weeks later or perhaps months after that day, Achilles has no way to know, their journeys home must be long underway. But Achilles cannot leave. 

At night, he lies alone on the temple floor and dreams of all the things he's lost; in the morning, with the dawn, Apollo comes, and shows him what he's gained. 

The sun rises; Achilles kneels, waiting at Apollo's feet. Around his neck, the chain feels tight. Every day, it feels just one link tighter. 

Apollo stirs. Achilles watches. 

This is the life he has now, until Apollo snuffs the light.


End file.
